


Fifteen Credits

by ultharkitty



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 04:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rotorbolt and Telus are barely surviving in the outskirts of Polyhex when Rotorbolt gets the offer of a job he can't turn down. </p><p>Contains: implied long-term relationship between Rotorbolt and Telus, implied non-consensual medical procedure. Also contains some Combaticons. </p><p>Written for the tf_speedwriting Spam Weekend, to the prompt: <i>Challenge: take an urban legend and write a TF version.</i> It's my prompt, but I'm not sure I hit it properly. Ah well, the urban legend I choose should hopefully be pretty obvious, even though our protagonist doesn't end up in an ice bath. </p><p>Rotorbolt and Telus are very minor canon characters from the Marvel Comics continuity, and I've pinched them for the Dysfunction AU because I found them on the Wiki and they looked lonely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fifteen Credits

"I don't like it," Telus said. "What do you even know about this guy?"

Rotorbolt sighed. "Get out of the doorway," he said. "We need fuel, he's gonna pay me. That's all I need to know."

Telus shook his head. Rust-pocked and flaking, his surface had seen better vorns. Rotorbolt didn't look much different. The light was kind in their one-room rental, dim, it didn't show the decay. Outside was different, and Rotorbolt wished they could just close the door and never open it again.

He looked down at his feet; how long since he'd been able to polish them? "I need to do this," he said. 

"You heard the rumours," Telus persisted, punctuating each clause with an increasingly wild gesture. "Towers mechs coming down for a hunt, transorganics, the spare parts trade, that psycho killer, mutant scraplets, lethal viruses in stim cards! It's all happening, it's all real, you can't go out there!" 

Rotorbolt grabbed his partner's arms. "I have to," he said. "If I don't go out there, we'll starve."

Telus' arms went limp. "We can get a loan-"

"No," Rotorbolt said softly. "We can't. This is honest work... OK, it's probably dodgy as a crooked crankshaft, but all I gotta do is transport the package, and I'll get the credits. I'll be back before the end of this rotation. OK?" He tried to meet the weak orange glow of Telus' optics. " _OK?_ "

Telus leant to the side, letting him through. "OK."

* * *

His employer was pleasant. Rich, obviously, but not the bad kind, he was a sandy yellow groundframe with bright purple optics and an open, cheerful smile. He sat in a large chair behind a large desk piled high with datasheets. He gave Rotorbolt a visual once over as he introduced himself, but he didn't sneer and he didn't cringe. His smile just got wider. 

"Fifteen creds if you get there within the half joor," the mech said. "Payment on delivery."

"Yes, sir." Rotorbolt nodded. 

"Does your alt mode work?"

"No, sir." He'd long since buried his rotor mount beneath a flange of his back plating. There was no point in having it stick out when his blades had all snapped and he couldn't afford to replace them. "I can transform OK, but I can't fly. I'll go on foot, I know the shortcuts." 

His employer nodded. "That's more than I do," he said. He pushed a small package across the desk. "Be quick about it, and I might use you again."

* * *

Rotorbolt sped through the faded grandeur of Polyhex's oldest sub-district. Fifteen credits. _Fifteen credits!_ It would be enough to keep himself and Telus in energon for orns. Perhaps he could buy some anti-corrosion polish too, and a new cloth. Sigma knew they could use it. 

He arrived at his destination with a whole quarter joor to spare. He leaned on wall by the door, dizzy with exertion, and pressed the buzzer. 

"Yeah?" A heliformer answered, clean and healthy and grey. A war-frame, the military equivalent to Rotorbolt's own civilian model. 

He straightened up. "Delivery for Windspeed?" he said. 

The rotary nodded. "You better come in."

Indoors was a converted shop. A second war-frame - a tank - sat at a table, playing a game with holographic cards. The heliformer vanished. Rotorbolt held on to the package, unsure who he should give it to. Windspeed sounded like it should be the rotary's name, but military naming conventions weren't exactly his area of expertise. 

The tank gave him a nod of acknowledgement, but didn't speak. 

Eventually, the rotary returned. He flashed an ID chip under Rotorbolt's nose, and took the package. He broke open the small box; a data crystal tumbled out, and he slotted it into his arm. "Fifteen creds?" he said. "Frag, I gotta make change. I'll be back."

Rotorbolt would happily have taken a twenty credit chip, but Windspeed vanished before he could get up the nerve to ask. 

"You look like scrap," the tank said, and Rotorbolt bit back a snappish reply. The tank continued. "I'm gonna have a drink, you want one?"

Rotorbolt looked up. "Really?" Some coolant would do him good, maybe some oil. Whatever the mech had to spare, he'd drink. 

But the tank opened a box on the floor, releasing a shimmering glow and a volley of rich, heady fumes. 

"I only got Vosian," the tank said, dumping two cubes on the table. "I wanted to get the good stuff from Altihex, but Windthingy said no." He cracked open his cube and downed half in one go.

Rotorbolt's hand shook as he pulled the cube closer. He hadn't seen high grade - well, high grade that wasn't in someone else's grip - in half a vorn. He tugged the fumes through his vents, his intake hose contracting in anticipation. 

The tank laughed. "You're gonna drink that, right, not just look at it?" 

A vision of Telus appeared as the first gulp slid down his throat. Telus as he used to be, shiny and polished and such a pale blue he was almost white. If he got the whole cube down, maybe Rotorbolt could siphon some of it back later, give it to Telus, have a taste of the good old days again. 

His vision crackled, and he laughed. He'd forgotten how quickly high grade hit under-energised systems. He grabbed the table and slid into a chair. Then off the chair and onto the floor as a tingling, warm darkness took him over completely. 

* * *

Rotorbolt booted cold in a back alley in Dead End. Condensation covered him, seeping into his joints and making him feel clammy inside. He grabbed his head, groaning. Oh scrap, did he ache. His processor, his struts, his optics, even his denta hurt. 

He rolled onto his side, desperate to keep from venting. Couldn't lose the energon, couldn't afford to. 

At the thought of energon, his databanks unfolded, releasing information in a flood. He wasn't used to this. He was energised, _fully_ energised. He'd forgotten what it felt like, how quickly his mind worked when he wasn't fighting to keep all his systems online. 

He almost rejoiced, until the warnings began to ping. 

Rotorbolt sprung to his feet, the movement sending an agonising jolt through his back and his head. He didn't want to believe the warnings; how could he have been so stupid?

He reached behind himself, carefully, pitted fingers searching for the telltale raised metal of a welding scar. 

He found one. 

It was as long as his hand, and joined the metal directly over his transformation cog. Or where his transformation cog used to be. 

Shaking, Rotorbolt forced himself up. He went over the warnings again. Just his transformation cog, nothing worse. He couldn't transform. OK, so he hadn't for orns, and Telus never needed to know. He couldn't fly anyway. 

Something clattered inside of his arm. He opened his compartment. Fifteen credits sat in the otherwise empty space. Fifteen credits for his transformation cog. He knew he ought to feel worse, but all he could think was at least that was the only part of him worth taking. 

Rotorbolt vented deep, waiting for his vision to come back and his equilibrium chip to tell him which way was up. Then he secured the credit chips, and began to make his way back through the worst sub-district of Polyhex to Telus.


End file.
